Morticia's Stew
by AutomneArcher
Summary: Morticia Addams decides to prepare a special stew for a late lunch one day, with a deadly consequence. Dare we ask: What could go wrong? Something smells fishy here. Please r&r :) I do NOT own anything.
1. Chapter 1

There was music in the air.

The kind of sound that was defined to melodious perfection. It ignited the soul, aroused the heart, and haunted the mind.

It was very soothing.

Lurch always did have a _special_ way when it came to playing his beloved harpsichord.

He barely uttered a word, but knew every musical note to a Vivaldi; Beethoven, Mozart, and of course - Tango. He knew them all better than any musician did, better than he knew the alphabet (Sort of.).

The music could be heard throughout the large and dismal mansion; echoing all the way down into the freshly excavated tunnels that dear Pugsley had made under the house. The lovely sound could also be heard all the way up to decaying attic, reverberating into the walls, the decade old dust lightly being sifted from their resting place.

It was glorious music! It was as calming as sandpaper. (Best for scrubbing calluses or Uncle Fester's head. His pate never shone a more gleeful radiance since Thing started using sandpaper instead of a steel brush.)

Lurch could play for hours on end. Never even feeling fatigued. The children could play with their dynamite caps all they like, (They already broke the chandelier in the living room five times in the same week. Gomez is finally considering having it insured.) and Lurch would still be in his wonderful world of music. Mrs. Addams found that trait about him very admirable.

Today Gomez was sitting in his favorite chair. The handsome castilian was luxuriously dressed in one of his famous crimson silk dressing robes, he was smoking a fresh stick of his favorite Cuban cigars. (It was a befitting reward to himself, he had actually managed to clear the congestion in his olfactory by taking a short nap - while he was doing his headstand. It does wonders for the respiratory system!)

It was one of those idyllic days. A Sunday to be precise, the scent of fresh rain and cemetery soil in the air. The late morning couldn't have been more perfect.

He listened to Lurch's playing as he took a long drab from his cigar, puffing out smoke rings with his mouth.

A few moments later his beloved wife emerges from the conservatory; her ebony tendrils flowing behind her as she entered the spacious living room. He watched her quietly with a dark desire, as she politely interrupted Lurch's playing and asked him kindly to fetch her a hot cup of henbane.

Morticia then crosses the room to sit in her usual chair, which was of course, situated next to Gomez's.

But surprisingly, before she could reach her chair, she felt a very possessive hand gently grasp her by the wrist.

She knew whose hand it was without even looking.

Morticia could feel the subtle hint of his all consuming strength from his touch. She turned around to face him, their eyes meeting as an amorous smirk tugged at the corner of her red lips.

He grinned seductively at her as he pulled her towards him. He gestured for her to sit on his lap, which of course, she affectionately obliged.

He felt the voluptuous pressure of her weight against his leg. He pulled her closer by the waist till there no long was any space between the expanse of his chest, and her delicate back.

"What a wonderfully restless storm last night Querida." He murmured huskily into her hair.

Morticia leaned deeper into his embrace, breathing a deep sigh of content in his arms. One hand held her firmly by the waist, whilst the other tenderly pushed her silky black hair to one side, allowing him a bountiful access to her ivory neck.

Her voice sounded thick with an almost sinful ardor, "Oh yes, darling. I believe we managed to create our own little hurricane within our boudoir."

She felt his excitement at her last words.

"Tish, that's French." He purred.

"Oui."

Morticia closed her eyes as his soft lips made contact with her exposed skin. The fire within her was beginning to stir as she unconsciously raised her left hand to caress the back of his neck. Gomez grazed his lips against her nape, her scent making him frantic to the point of delirium. He angled her body as he continued his passionate kisses.

He could hear a soft moan of pleasure escape her lips, "Oh, Gomez..."

He could not take anymore! A man could only bear so much.

There was an intimacy in the sound of her breathing, and it caused a tidal wave to wreak havoc inside of him.

"Cara, kiss me," Gomez whispers to her urgently.

He felt her shift in his arms. Morticia turned lightly so that she could face him. Their eyes was clouded with desire as their mingled breaths played against each other; their lips crossing the distance that separated them. Their hearts could be felt pulsating faster, their volcanoes were beginning to _erupt._

As their lips were preciously inches away from the taste of unbridled passion, their moment was interrupted by the sound of newly arrived mail.

Somewhere in Italy, an earthquake straightened the famous leaning tower of Pisa.

_CARAMBA!_

As Gomez tried to compose himself, out emerged Thing from his box with the mail.

Morticia stretched out a hand to receive the letters, and returned to her position in Gomez's embrace.

"Thank you, Thing." Said Morticia.

Gomez wrapped both hands around her waist as she leaned against him once more.

"Who are they from my dear?" Asked her husband as he rested his chin lightly against her shoulder.

Morticia was opening an azure envelope, with a deep purple colored stamp.

She took out its contents and began to read.

There was a brief silence.

"The poor thing..." Morticia said sadly.

Just as she was about to tell Gomez who the letter was from, Lurch walked in carrying a silver tray with a scalding pot of henbane and two teacups in their saucers. He set it down on the table,

"Your tea, Madam." He croaked in his barely decipherable dialect.

"Thank you Lurch, that will be all." Said Mrs. Addams.

Shortly after their butler had left, Morticia spoke again, "Oh Gomez, I'm so terribly worried about her,"

"About who, love?"

"Dear cousin Melancholia, she sent me this letter." She was still holding the paper and several of the other letters in her other hand.

"Well, what did she say?"

"She's broken off her engagement." Morticia sighed wistfully.

"Again? A bit fickle minded isn't she?"

"Darling, you know how beautiful women can be like. They need to know their options, and they want to know _if_ they are making the right decision."

"That's true Querida. But I don't recall any hesitance from you when I proposed marriage," Said Gomez, a subtle tease in his voice.

She covered his hand with hers, "It was different with us, love." She cooed lowly, Morticia felt his embrace tighten as he pressed a kiss to her earlobe. "I just knew it was fate when I first burned my initials on your shoulder."

Morticia felt Gomez shiver, "Tish' when you speak of such things, it sets my blood ablaze!"

He takes her hand and starts kissing it like a madman. "Gomez, darling. Control yourself," She gently whispered.

It took every ounce of will power to return to his senses, "Alright," He replied unsteadily, taking a shallow breath to calm himself.

Morticia proceeds to open another envelope with a most unusual stamp.

"Darling, I've just received a letter from Uncle Eustece."

Gomez was lightly toying with Morticia's hair distractedly. "What does he say?"

"He says that he adored the sweater I knitted for him, and that the collar area was just a tad bit too tight."

(Morticia used Ox fur as knitting material, they proved to be much more cozier in colder climates.)

"Ah, yes. He does have such a lovely and elongated neck. But that collar area of his can be quite tricky to measure at times without proper tools."

"That's true dear."

"What else does he say?"

Morticia reads till the end of the letter, "He says he's wearing it right now, and finds the abrasive fur to be calming to his nerves."

"That sounds splendid! By the way Cara, didn't you tell me yesterday you were cooking something special for lunch today?"

"Of course darling. But it will be a surprise." Morticia replies with a dark gleam in her eyes.

"Marvelous! I'll tell Lurch to prepare that vintage whiskey I still have in storage in the cellar."

"That sounds absolutely divine, darling. Was it that whiskey you saved after The Great Depression?"

"Querida, how could you forget? It was after The French Revolution!"

"Oh, yes. That was a good year for liqueur."

Morticia neatly sets the letters aside on the table.

"I'll need to help Lurch prepare for a late lunch."

"Of course, my dear."

**A/N: Heys guys! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. This won't be a long Fic, probably around two or three chapters at most. Its because I realized that my storyline in this story just simply can't fit into one one-shot, haha! And yes its still inspired from the 1960s version of The Addams Family. And also it is my first time to be doing a collaboration with another writer in the next chapters. She is an AMAZING Dark Shadows Fanfiction writer - Daryl Wor. You guys should check out her stuff, its pretty awesome. This story we will be collaborating on will have two special guests from the Dark Shadows world. So sit tight and stay tuned!**

**God Bless!**

Updated A/N: Hey guys, due to some technical difficulties, I will have to postpone my collaboration with Dark Shadows writer. But do not worry, there will be plenty of time for us to create something awesome for you guys to read. In the meanwhile you can still have fun with this story, enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

The grandfather clock in the large decrepit hallway could be heard chiming loudly, signaling it was twenty-five minutes past three.

The charmingly dreary kitchen upon which Mrs. Addams was currently occupying, wreaked of rotting fish - specifically, the pungent odor of the pufferfish cadavers emanating into the air. (It had been exported from the Fiji islands a month ago. Its freshness was kept intact through the freezer, and a light coating of Uncle Fester's spray-on preservative - just to keep.)

They were in a large black ceramic bowl, glistening with a cheerful Grey sheen. They have already been washed with salt water, and removed of their sharp spines and organs.

Lurch was helping Morticia haul a medium cauldron over the cooking area, when Uncle Fester walked in.

His sunken eyes stared at his niece as Morticia set an extremely old and over-sized book a few meters away from the archaic cooking stove.

Fester blinked before speaking, "Gee Morticia, that looks like a lot of food. Who are ya' cooking for?" He asked with a light squeak of his voice.

Morticia opened the book rather abruptly, causing thick dust to rise from within its pages. (It was Mama's favorite cooking book, and was usually only used on special occasions.)

"Nonsense Uncle Fester. Its a perfectly reasonable amount of food for the family," Said Morticia as Lurch placed the large bowl containing the pufferfish in front of her.

Fester watched as Morticia took a piece of pufferfish, and deftly allowed it to drop into the aged cauldron with a small sloshing noise.

Morticia's Uncle eyed the fish curiously, "Are you sure you've cleaned them properly? They don't look Grey enough to me." Asked Uncle Fester once more, setting down his bat net on the black marble counter.

"Of course, dear." Morticia replied absently as she turned a page from the decaying cooking book. (The book was so old, it was partially molding on the sides.)

She was double checking all the preparatory procedures in the ingredient list, just to make sure she missed nothing. (Pufferfish is quite an exotic delicacy in other countries; such as Japan, or Jamaica. But it could be quite dangerous - even lethal if not prepared correctly. But Mrs. Addams on the other hand, considers it a perfectly harmless - if not, pointy, sea creature.)

Morticia smiled lightly as she came to the end of the page. It seemed everything was in order.

She then dropped the final piece of fish into the cauldron, as Lurch ignited the old burner with excessive amounts of kerosene and wood. Then their tall butler quietly excused himself so that he could set the table.

"Say, Morticia, what kind of fish did you say that was?" Said Fester, who made his way from the counter to stand next to her, as she stirred the watery soup with a long wooden spoon.

"Why, its pufferfish of course." Replied Mrs. Addams whilst sprinkling a dash of salt into the murky liquid below.

"Isn't pufferfish the kind of creature that produces the kind of venom that drips from its fangs?"

"Oh Uncle Fester, that's a sea-cobra you are referring to," Morticia answered, dropping a spoonful of toadstool into the mixture.

"Besides," Spoke the raven-haired beauty, "The kind of poison a pufferfish carries, lies within their internal organs, specifically the liver. It paralyzes a person for over forty-eight hours or even can cause death, _if_ not prepared correctly." She stirred again, the flames licking beneath the bulbous cauldron. "Isn't that absolutely fascinating?" She remarked gleefully.

"Yes...very interesting..." Fester acquiesced dreamily. "So you're sure that's safe to eat?"

"Of course, darling. Now, all I need is a pinch of pepper." She sprinkled a dash of lizard eyes before turning to the man beside her.

"Uncle Fester, could you be a dear and hand me the pepper? Its on the counter."

Fester took the small glass bottle from the counter and handed it to her. He watched with amusement as Morticia doused a generous amount into the dark soup. The water was just beginning to boil as vapors of steam floated into the air above them.

She sighed happily. "I just adore pepper. Its so..._black_."

A few minutes later Gomez enters the kitchen.

He inhaled deeply, an invigorated smile on his lips. "Something smells wonderful."

Morticia glanced at him with a subtle half-smile.

Gomez then proceeds over to the counter and noticed Fester's bat net.

"Going bat hunting today old man?" Gomez said casually as he placed an already lighted cigar into his mouth.

"That reminds me. I need to get my bat traps in order! Do you know how cheap rifles are nowadays? Its offensive!," Said Fester as he remembered, "I'll see you two lovebirds when I get home."

Uncle Fester left in such a haste that Gomez forgot to remind him to take his bat net with him.

But as always, in the presence of the woman before him - _all_ is forgotten.

"How is the stock market today dear?" Asked Morticia politely, her back facing him.

Mr. Addams found it remarkably hard to concentrate on the answer.

_What was the question again?_

His eyes were distracting him with the view of his wife's luscious black hair that cascaded delicately down her back; the sensual curls ending just above her perfectly round posterior.

"Beautiful..." He replied with a dark and intense affection.

Even without seeing her lovely face, he could tell she was smiling from the way she held her stance, even in the most inconspicuous way that she projected it. Almost unconsciously responding to his touch before his hands actually roamed her body.

Gomez continued to smoke his cigar, a cloud of smoke surrounding him. His own personal air of aristocratic elegance.

But as he sat there, his mind was beginning to wander. Wandering with a deep pleasure to the more carnal events that occurred last night.

_They had stayed up for the majority of the late evening making love._

_Why wouldn't they be? There was a prolific storm after all._

_Their bedroom was dark, seeping with the blackness from the evening firmament. The only light came from the hearth of the ancient fireplace; it radiated a soft glow of fiery tones of gold and red, the restless flames dancing in the darkness._

_Everything was silhouetted in an amber glow. From the hunting knives mounted on the walls, to the oversized antlers that was the mantle piece._

_They were in their own world. A world of hidden pleasures and illicit desires._

_There was an old record playing in the farthest corner of the room, an old Hungarian gypsy tango that echoed from the phonograph._

_The the sound reverberated against the walls; its music was seducing the vehement cries of the lightning outside to dance, to be a slave to its rhythm. _

_The melody was hypnotic, insatiable, haunting the senses with a fervent tenacity. But most of all, it was - inescapable._

_And so was Morticia._

_Gomez was on the bed, his back resting against the thick wooden headboard. The embers from his cigar glowed lowly as he puffed the smoke through his lips._

_Morticia had been standing near the window earlier, admiring, ravaging the storm with immense pleasure as the rain poured itself onto the earth._

_His eyes followed her as she stepped away from the window, wearing nothing, nothing except for his silk dressing robe._

_The crimson from its cloth and the contrast from her dark hair proved to be _

_an intoxicating combination. The robe was handsomely masculine down to the infinitesimal embroidery on its lapels, but on her, it was exquisitely feminine in every sense of the word. _

_The room was growing colder from the storm. The icy chill seething into the atmosphere._

_Gomez watched knowingly as Morticia shivered lightly, despite wearing his robe. She decided to head for the fireplace one more time to gain some semblance of warmth before returning to bed._

_It was a moment like this when he enjoyed watching her the most. In all her womanly beauty, the outlines of her delicate breasts peeking from beneath the generous opening of his robe._

_He took another long drab, his eyes glistening like black diamonds as he looked on. The gypsy music was reaching its pivotal height; the drums banging with a tenacious beat, the tambourine clinking wildly as the violin sang its music with lustful proclamations._

_Morticia began to sway with the music; her arms outstretched gracefully as her hips became one with the rhythm. The melody surging throughout her whole body, rising from her toes and up to her fingertips. Piercing the very core of her soul, urging her, beckoning her to dance._

_Morticia spun briefly in deep revelry, lost in the music and the storm; the robe flowing freely with her nubile movements. The light from the fire traced every curve of her body, as she casted shadowy figures dancing around the room._

_It was one of the most sensuous moment of his life._

_His eyes devoured her image in his mind; from the arch of her back, to the curve of her bosoms._

_She was a temptress._

_An erotic maniac._

_His wife._

_The thunder outside was beginning to cease, together with the music after a while. There was a deep silence that flooded the room, settling together with the cold; the rain beginning to subside as well, but the storms of desire within him was awakened once more._

_"Tish' come to bed." His voice was deeper as he spoke, and it came out as a demand, rather than a feeble request._

_She was still facing the fireplace, the back of her hair was tousled from her dancing. But then turned slowly, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her red lips. She did not move, but instead stared at him challengingly. Teasing him, taunting him till it drove him completely mad with arousal._

_When she was in this kind of mood, it was he that came to her, not the other way around._

_The passion was mounting heavily on his chest and deep inside of his body._

_He could not take it anymore!_

_Gomez pushed the covers aside, (Dressed in nothing but his silk black __pajamas.) and strode defiantly towards her. __His eyes gleamed with a wild animalistic fervor. __Morticia held his gaze and returned it with an equally primal glare. She kept her head high, her confidence hiding her inner pleasure at the state she has put him in._

_In one swift movement, he ferociously stripped the robe from her body, rendering her bare and naked - for his eyes only._

_And in the act of grand passion, took her in his arms and carried her with him back to their bed._

_"Mon amour..."_

_She whispered._

**A/N: Hey guys! I hope you liked Chapter 2! Its a little more...shall we say - prurient - towards the end. Haha! I hope you guys don't mind, I was actually listening to a Hungarian gypsy tango while I was writing that part. I just thought it would be more fun to add a bit of more spice to the story. ;) If any of you are curious to listen to the song I listened to while writing this, feel free to send me a message.**

**I also have an important announcement to make. Regarding my collaboration with Daryl Wor, I'm sad to say we have to postpone it due to technical difficulties on my part and schedule problems. But not to worry! We shall do a one-shot hopefully someday for you guys to enjoy. So in the meantime, you can still read this story and have fun. And for all of you Dark Shadows fans out there, be sure to check out her stuff. Because it's awesome that way. ;)**

**Sit tight my loves! Chapter 3 is coming up.**

**God bless!**


	3. Chapter 3

Gomez stood up from his seat, his mind shaking him from his deep reverie.

He notices that his cigar has burned out, and tosses the remaining butt into the sink - he missed.

Gomez sees Morticia, who apparently was still busy stirring the sauce, and was adding several other herbs into the stew. He walks over to her and caresses her by the waist.

"Morticia..." He whispered longingly.

"Gomez darling, I'm cooking." Morticia replies patiently, patting his cheek gently with her free hand.

"But-"

"Darling," She coos, "Stew now, Morticia later."

Without any warning, he spun her around possessively so that she was facing him. Gomez could not describe whether it was surprise, or gratification he felt when he saw the same look from his eyes reflected in hers. The same clouded look of desire, as if she had been reading his thoughts the whole time he was sitting behind her.

Internally, he trembled with a burning desire; an affliction, only _she_ could inflict without even lifting a finger. The fire that eminated between their bodies was hotter than any flame that ever existed.

He pulled her closer by the waist.

The violent throbbing of his chest could only be soothed by her kisses.

He took the wooden spoon she held in her hand, and tossed it away with an impassioned projectile; the culinary instrument clanked lightly as it hit the floor.

There was no one else in the room but the two of them. Gomez treasured this moment by enveloping her lips in a deep kiss, as an explosion of ecstacy overcame him. He could feel the smooth velvet of her mouth grow softer against his. Morticia responded with an equally tantalizing gesture of affection as she pulled him closer by his flanks, relishing the aftertaste of his Cuban cigar against her tongue.

He deliberately maneuvered her _away_ from the cauldron; never breaking their amorous kisses, as he cornered her between himself and the small kitchen table.

His hand gently cradled her neck as his thumb caressed her collar bone. He then instinctly pushed her hair to the side as his mouth moved from her lips, and began tracing kisses lower against her jawline, moving further down her neck.

Morticia, in her deeply aroused state, slipped her arms around his neck for support as she leaned against him. Gomez could feel his passion heighten to a level of scrupulous madness, when she began to lightly caress the nape of his neck with her nails. His lips continued to travel lower as he began to kiss the hollow of her throat.

Although Morticia was the type to be more demure about her certain affections toward her beloved husband in front of others; it does not mean however, that her yearnings, longings, and fiery passions do not equal his own - because they _do._

Even in the rare instances that they were apart, she could always feel his presence beside her; his eyes adoring her, worshiping her.

Perhaps one of the things she adored about her beloved Querido (Its excessively hard to narrow it to one trait.), was his impulsiveness; his ferocity, and the inner beast that resided within him and took 'No' for an answer. Because she knew she could be _very_ stubborn at times; sinfully teasing to the point of torment, and cunning as a spider. But when it came to him, she loves how he could just take her; dominate her if he wished, but with always the greatest tenderness and respect for her.

Morticia loves the way he could hold her tighter than any of her corsets put together, (Lovingly squeezing the air from her lungs till she could take no more.) and the way he could make wildly violent love to her during a hurricane. She also loved how much he would spoil her with expensive gifts, and lavishing all of his affections toward her - only _her_.

And how the majority of their arguments ended in love making with the furniture as casualties. (They've already broken the headboard twelve times this week. But ironically they haven't even argued in over a year.)

Gomez's kisses were starting to become exceedingly erotic, and Morticia was beginning to return to her senses when she heard the bubbling of the cauldron.

As much as she wanted him to make love to her right this second, she had to finish the task at hand.

"Love," Morticia spoke, lightly out of breath, breaking the intensity of his kisses, "If we're going to continue like this, the children won't have anything to eat for lunch." She tenderly reminded him.

He inhaled deeply, somewhat hesistant inside, "Of course... You are right."

He loosened his arms around his beautiful wife. But before he released his complete hold of her; he placed one final kiss to her forehead, murmuring a whispered 'I love you' and earning a playful wink from Morticia, before she returned to her cooking.

Morticia took out the spare wooden spoon from the kitchen drawer, and lowered it to the broth. She then carefully lifted it to her lips, and drank the liquid. It tasted just wonderful.

_Gomez would be pleased._ She thought to herself happily.

She added one more final pinch of basil, when she heard Gomez rummaging for something in one of the cabinets.

"Querida, have you seen the fencing sword Pugsley borrowed? I want to challenge Lurch to a duel after lunch." Said her husband as he looked in the left cabinet.

"I'm afraid I haven't seen it dear. Though darling, I don't think your sword is there, it simply can't fit into that single space." Replied Mrs. Addams.

"Why sure it can!" He exclaimed with enthusiasm, "The little rascal broke it in two pieces the other day, and used the other half for a kebab. There's no trouble in mending it together however, there's always industrial super glue!"

"That's true dear, I've never thought of it that way."

Just then, the kitchen door swings open.

"Old man!" Gomez called out, closing the remaining open cabinets, "Back from bat hunting?"

Fester blinked and raised a nonexistent brow, "The bat hunting didn't go that _fast_ Gomez." He walked over to the counter, "You can't catch a bat without a net, or a rifle!" He said jubilantly. He showed Gomez the weapon he had just bought.

"Looks marvelous Fester." Remarked Gomez as he took a quick look.

"It does doesn't it? The store owner practically just gave it to me when I smiled at him. I can't imagine why." He said in deep thought, "After that he told me to get out." Said Fester decidedly, "I like him, such frank manners."

While the two men chatted.

Morticia noticed a shift in the air, as if it was just lightly to moderately stifling. The room seemed so enclosed all of a sudden. She pushed the thought aside as she tried to concentrate on what she was doing. Instead, she found herself oddly short of breath. She had felt so ill, and that's rare of her. She's _never _\- ever ill. (Unless its sunny.)

She stepped away from the cauldron, and headed to the sink to get a drink of water. She concentrated very hard to stay composed, but Morticia's vision was beginning to swim; it was excruciatingly disorienting. The voices around her sounded inaudible, her mind was in a daze. She was only halfway to where she was headed - when she dropped to the floor. Morticia did not know what was happening to her, and for once in her life, she felt - _terror_.

She was heaving labored gasps of air, she tried to call for her husband, but the darkness took her away.

**A/N: Hey guys! Hope you had fun with Chapter 3! And a very warm thank you to all of you who read and reviewed. I love you guys too! **

**I hope I hadn't teased you guys too much with the ending of this Chapter. XD Sit tight for Chapter 4! This is definitely a more longer story than I anticipated. But c'est la vie! ;)**

**You know what to do. ;) And it drives me wild. ;D**

**God bless and stay tuned!**


	4. Chapter 4

Gomez did not know the very meaning of fear.

(Aside from that time one of his children wore pink by accident during Halloween. Pink is definitely not a good shade on Pugsley.)

Until the very moment he saw his beloved lying on the cold floor.

The fear he felt then was no ordinary feeling of anxiety or vexation, it was the kind of feeling that crushed the soul, one that made the heart writhe with agony.

It all happened so quickly. One moment she was standing there, then...

Gomez was at Morticia's side instantaneously. She was unmoving, and still. Suddenly the whole house had gone silent, as if a light had been snuffed out.

He knelt beside her as he spoke in a hushed but panicked tone, her eyes were open but they looked petrified, she could not speak, "Darling, what is it? Are you hurt? Speak to me!"

Morticia could only blink once, and even that simple action seemed to cause her great pain.

Gomez took her in his arms, and quickly turned to Fester who was shocked into a temporary catatonic state.

"Fester, call a Doctor! Any Doctor! Get one here as fast as you can!"

"What happened? What's the matter with her?" Asked Fester, sounding utterly mortified and looking several shades paler than usual.

"Fester, you've got to call for a Doctor. I don't know what happened! She just dropped to the floor. She's not a fainter." Gomez says as he kicked the kitchen door open.

"Maybe its gravity." Fester said in jest. His defense mechanism when he becomes too anxious.

"This is no time for levity, old man. Call the Doctor, and have Lurch pick up the children from school. But _do not_ tell them what happened. It'll only worry them."

"Right!" Fester replied as he exited the kitchen hurriedly.

"Don't worry Cara Mia, I'll take care of you," Gomez whispers gently to her as he carried her out of the door.

In spite of his strength, the male morale he showed, and somewhat calm veneer he projected outside, inwardly he trembled. He trembled with each step he took as he carried his wife up the stairs as thoughts of her death consumed his mind.

This was horrible. No. Terrible! Frightening. Maddening.

This was even worse than that atrocious fight he and Morticia had before Wednesday was born.

There was an attractive woman who rang their doorbell one day. She happened to be selling Persian rugs. (She was a traveling Persian rug sales woman. Her skin was so white it almost matched her hair. She was young of course, but her hair was the strangest shade of platinum blonde Morticia ever saw. _Bleach Blonde. _Morticia would secretly refer to the woman during the duration of her visit.)

And like the perfect hostess Morticia is, she invited the woman in.

Let's just say that the lusty blonde made a _grave_ error in flirting with her husband, as discreet as she made it seem.

Morticia was never the 'Jealous' type. But by George, on that day, the entire mansion turned into a madhouse.

Gomez shivered as he remembered their first tempestuous quarrels. Followed by Morticia carrying a pair of scissors. Then to that time when they stopped talking for three days straight. It was beyond torture.

But after what transpired today, memories of that particular time seemed almost like a cordial misunderstanding, it paled in comparison to the circumstances now.

Finally after several minutes, they reached the bedroom. He crossed the threshold, cradling Morticia close as he headed towards their bed. Then very slowly he lowered her onto the soft mattress, piling several pillows high so that she could rest comfortably.

Before Gomez lowered her completely, he took her favorite shawl and draped it around her shoulders as he softly helped her to lean back against the downy pillows.

During this time, he remained uncharacteristically silent. He was even afraid to look at her, but not once did he ever let go of her hand as he sat at her bedside.

Morticia gripped his hand, the best that she could muster. She was also afraid, _very_ afraid, and she was not used to the emotion. The only thing that kept her from losing her sanity was hearing her husband's voice, and feeling the warmth of his hand against hers. Her eyelids felt heavy as she kept her focal point on her husband. She tried to speak, but she could not move. Morticia could only squeeze his hand, but then again it was done with an almost infinitesimal amount of force. She was losing her strength slowly by the hour.

After a short while, Gomez started to speak. His mind was furiously working in a torrent, trying to somehow understand how this could happen.

"I can't fathom it..." Gomez says wearily, taking a quick sideways glance at her, "I just don't understand what could have happened to cause this darling. Everything seemed fine..." He said sounding so lost, and so small in a way.

The soft Grey light from outside was streaming gently into their dim bedroom.

It was a lovely day outside. Gloomy and dampening to the spirits, but it was only an illusion, for inside the Addams residence, things were not what they seemed.

He looked at her as she laid there, in all her serene beauty. But instead of the glorified admiration he was used to feeling when he saw her, it was now replaced by pain and frustration.

The one person who needed him most, he could not even help. It was killing him.

Clearly he could see that her eyes were trying to convey a message that her lips could not speak.

Another morbid thought of her death flashed in his mind, and almost instantly he felt a wave of physical suffocation come over him.

He then tenderly raised her hand and kissed it as he spoke to her, "Not to fear, my love. There has to be a way this can be fixed. A resolution. If only I could bear your sufferings, if only I could pluck out your pain. You know I would, my angel."

Gomez held her hand close to his chest as he finally allowed himself to look at her; though it tormented him to see her so helpless, "There has to be a way. There _must_ be a way..." He whispered, "I can't live without you..."

Meanwhile, downstairs...

Fester was having a contentious debate with the operator on the telephone, in the downstairs living room.

"Hello, operator. Yes! I've already given you the number twice! What's with the delay? A precious life is at stake here!" Fester demanded as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the table.

A voice was replying to him in the phone's ear piece.

"Whadaya' mean the number has been 30 years out of service? Are you high?"

**A/N: Hey Guys! I am so sorry for the delayed update! I've had a crazy month, a memory card of mine got busted, and erased the majority of ALL my files. I had to spend a bit of time in recovering and re-downloading the stuff I lost. But then again that is no excuse, I really do apologize my loves. I hope you enjoyed Chapter 4 woohoo! And pardon if there are any errors or mistakes, I will do my best to fix them. Like I said in my previous stories, since my computer broke down two years ago, I have to type EVERYTHING on my phone so please bear with me my darlings. Anyways stay tuned for chapter 5!**

**God bless! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

While Fester was still engaged in a fiery debate with the telephone operator.

Upstairs, Morticia's condition has radically worsened.

Gomez sat there in a state of utter confusion, and sorrow at the sudden change of circumstance in just a span of two hours.

"Stay awake, love, don't fall asleep..." He whispered to her as he tenderly kissed her forehead. His brown eyes gazed upon her immobile body as he sat back down, his heart consumed by agony at her pain.

Was this it? Was this truly...death? It seemed only yesterday that they had only just said their wedding vows. Even skipping the part of, 'Till death do us part.' both of them confident that even death _could not_, _would not_ part them.

Unbiddenly, he was overcome by a feeling of intense jealousy and possessiveness at the thought, she will not be a paramour for death!

_She is mine, mine!_

He thought angrily. But his anger was brief, as his emotions swelled greatly like tides till it drowned him with despondence. The look in her eyes just as he caught her in his arms when she was about to fall into the floor was still haunting him.

She was the only woman who could make a grown man cry.

A few hours later, the sky shown signs that dusk was beginning to settle.

And thankfully, in spite of the pugnacious ordeal the telephone operator went through whilst speaking to Uncle Fester, she was able to send for a local Doctor to the Addams residence.

They're his problem now.

Dr. Carl Jacoby was the attending Physician the operator contacted that afternoon; urging him it was a matter of life or death, and that her sanity was in jeopardy if she spoke to Uncle Fester any minute longer.

"Please Doctor, you've got to go over there now!" Said the belligerent operator on the other line.

"But operator," Said the monotoned Doctor, "They have to have an appointment. I can't just squeeze them in at the last minute, I'm absolutely full for the day." He added with a dry chuckle.

"MY MENTAL HEALTH IS JUST A SICK GAME TO YOU, ISN'T IT." Replied the operator loudly. "Doctor if you don't go over there now, I might as well shave my head and admit myself to a mental institution! Because that's where I'm going if this Fester Addams doesn't stop badgering me!"

"Alright! Alright!" The Doctor conceded, distancing the phone away from his ear just in time when the operator shrieked on the other line, "I'll try and go over there this afternoon." He replied glumly, seeing he had no other choice. He then reached for a pen and paper as he listened to the earpiece he held in between his shoulder and temple. "Now, what's the address again? Mhmm... Mhmm," He nodded as he wrote it down, "Cemetery Lane?"

Somewhere outside, for no reason at all, the Doctor could hear a crack of thunder crashing against the firmament.

Dr. Jacoby was a stout man, with porcine features and a heavy mustache. He had a good reputation of being a medical practitioner, but ironically was a man of sheer nerves. (Neurotic nervousness that is.) He was scared of everything and anything that _he_ considered was an anomaly to normal society. He considered himself to be of utmost importance, but sadly succumbed almost very easily under stress. Among other things, he also feared old mansions and the dark.

You can imagine how this is going to turn out.

The hefty physician, dressed in a painfully boring charcoal suit, then took a cab an hour and a half later; after his rounds at the hospital, heading en route towards 0001 Cemetery Lane.

Once inside the vehicle, he gave the driver the address and was most flabbergasted at his reaction.

"Cemetery Lane?" The crude driver asked.

"Yes." The Doctor replied, confused at the look of consternation the driver gave him.

"What? You got a death wish or something Doc?" The driver remarked as he started the engine.

"Not particularly." The Doctor replied lamely, his neurotic instinct telling him that maybe going there is not such a good idea after all.

"Don't worry," Said the driver sighing, "You will."

Thirty minutes later, Dr. Jacoby found himself shivering and trembling before he could reach the front door of the Addams residence.

The front lawn seemed barren, deserted, and eerily ghoulish against the darkening sky. And perhaps the worst part was the fact that the entrance gate seemed to take on a life of its own. But in spite of the silence, he could oddly feel several eyes on him.

Dr. Jacoby stood there as he straightened his tie with tense fingers. Then he studied the bizarre looking doorbell (Silently debating whether he should wipe it first with a disinfectant.), and before he made the decision of touching it, the door opened.

The hinges squeaked ever so unpleasantly; reminiscent in sensation like nails inside his skull.

A moment later following the opening of the door, Dr. Jacoby could feel his bowels disintegrating into dust as he saw the seven foot man emerging from the dim light.

"Dooctoor Jacoby?" Lurch growled, raising a disapproving brow at the bulbous and trembling man.

Dr. Jacoby couldn't even find words to describe his fear of this towering giant with the menacing timbre.

"Bye," He choked out, making a desperate move to flee the premises immediately.

But alas, his chances of freedom were halted the moment Lurch placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and said in his gurgled dialect, "Mr. Addaams is expecting youu..."

He swallowed the dry lump in his throat and reluctantly entered the mansion - against his will.

"Folloow mee..." Said the tall Butler, after closing the door.

The moment Dr. Jacoby entered the aged foyer that was interconnected with the living room, he knew this was a mistake.

Not only did he see a head of, what seemed to be a giant sword fish that had a foot sticking out of its mouth, but he was also threatened by a white carpet made of fur that had the head of a bear, it growled angrily at him the moment he stepped on it.

He took another surreptitious glance around the room before they ascended the staircase; Dr. Jacoby from where he stood, could see a large sculpture of a tortoise with two heads, and on the far left corner, from out of a small knitting basket, was what seemed to be two shrunken heads with their eyes staring at him. He fought the sensation of vomit rising from the recesses of his stomach and into gullet.

The reticent butler then lead the Doctor through a dimly lighted hallway, till they reached the door in destination. By that time, Dr. Jacoby was several shades whiter than paper.

Lurch opened the bedroom door and entered, Dr. Jacoby following miserably behind.

"Dr. Carl Jaacoby..." He Lurch announced with a drawl.

The Doctor blinked several times, trying to adjust his eyes in the dim light of the room, he took off his heavily rimmed spectacles and wiped it with his handkerchief. He did not notice Uncle Fester walk up to him.

"So, you're the one they decided to send! About time!" Uncle Fester said angrily, as he smacked the Doctor's back with his hand.

"Ahh!" Dr. Jacoby yelped in surprise. He shook his head lightly, and with shaking hands placed his glasses back on. He looked to where a figure stood before him, and he could see Uncle Fester's sunken eyes magnified and staring at him.

"Uhh-" The Doctor stammered, blinking rapidly, trying to find his composure, "Err-How long have you had these black-Ermm-dark circles around your eyes?"

Uncle Fester blinked, "Since I was born!"

"Well-le-let me take a closer look, and see if I can help you," Said the bewildered Doctor, on the assumption that this decrepit creature could be his patient.

"Get away from me! Whadaya' think you're doing?!" Exclaimed Uncle Fester, perplexed as to why he was being examined.

"You are the patient are you not? I was told to come here immediately, the operator told me there was an emergency here, a matter of life or death!"

"It is, but its not me!" Responded Fester.

Dr. Jacoby peered closer to Uncle Fester and studied him for a moment, "What you need is a specialist... And if you still need help in sleeping, I'd suggest horse tranquilizers...Bye-"

He made another pathetic attempt at escaping, but Uncle Fester grabbed him by his lapels.

"Listen Doctor, I don't need help!" Uncle Fester screeched in shock at the Doctor's presumptions.

"That's what they all say." Dr. Jacoby mumbled under his breath.

"Doctor, I'm not talking about me. I'm talking about her," Uncle Fester said, pointing a thick finger to a pale and raven-haired woman that was lying on the bed. "She's the one who needs help!"

Doctor Jacoby followed Fester's gaze and saw Morticia Addams, her eyes were closed, her chest was still. He could not understand why he was called here. They didn't a Doctor. They should have called the morgue instead.

But since they called him, she must still be alive.

Or...

Perhaps she was already...?

He leaned close to Uncle Fester and whispered, "How long has she been dead?"

Before Fester could reply, a third voice entered the conversation from behind both of them.

"I beg your pardon?!" Gomez's voice boomed into the room.


End file.
